


The Death of Vincent van Gogh

by Taifics



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Death, Doctor cares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter References, Mocking, Post-Episode: s05e10 Vincent and the Doctor, Rescue or not issue, Sort of inspired by Loving Vincent (movie), Sort of inspired by Vincent van Gogh's letters to his brother Theo, Suicide, TARDIS cares, Vincent is sad, fixed point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taifics/pseuds/Taifics
Summary: The Doctor is alone again and needs to escape that loneliness as it makes her insane. She asks the TARDIS: “Take me somewhere, please, somewhere else...”, but she does not expect the way her precious blue box may understand such words.The story of a man who is destined to die and the Time Lady who is torn apart between the fixed point and a friend.





	1. 27 July 1890

**Author's Note:**

> After watching "Loving Vincent", reading letters written by Vincent van Gogh to his brother, Theo, and rewatching the old, good episode "Vincent and the Doctor" I felt truly inspired to write some fanfiction concerning the ginger-haired artist.  
> I was basing on historical facts, but, obviously, the story is closer to an alternative version of the actual events connected with van Gogh's death.  
> I thought it is also the best time to write something about the Thirteenth Doctor before she will actually appear and become... Well, defined by someone else. I made her a fine mixture (or so I would like to believe) of the Ninth Doctor and the Tenth Doctor with some faint hint of the Eleventh Doctor as well.  
> I know that my writing style is far from being perfect and I guess there is still a lot of nasty mistakes in my stories, but I am doing my best to improve. I am not a native speaker and so I dare to use it as an excuse (a poor one, I suppose) for such state.  
> I do hope you will forgive me any occurring defects and enjoy my writing anyway. :)

The Doctor was sitting on a single, old-fashioned chair by the console of the TARDIS.

She was wondering why the chair was there for long, long time. A single chair. Just one, single, old-fashioned chair standing right next to the console, bothering her everytime she wanted to run around the room as she always did. The nasty piece of furniture had been stuck to the floor, immovable, stubborn and really annoying. Yet eventually she had used to it. It was just some weird decoration she couldn't change. The one she hadn't chosen while rearranging the interior for the new body and the new taste.

Years had passed since then, since the moment she had emerged from the golden stream of regeneration energy, adjusting herself to the new form. Years of time travel, adventures, laugh and tears and so again she was alone.

Then, sitting on that bloody chair for the first time it since it had appeared she understood the point of that specific item – it was there all the time just waiting for the moment like that – a moment of breakdown, lonely moment, hopeless moment, aftermath of some another tragic loss of another companion. The TARDIS, it seemed, had been doing nothing, putting it there, but showing her compassion in advance, in case of loneliness that she was sure is to come for her owner once upon a time. She had put the chair close to the console, to her very core, to the TARDIS's heart so that the Doctor would believe she is actually not abandoned for there is always her box big and small at the same time.

Although this thought made her smile subtly she still could not ignore an empty hole somewhere deep inside her chest. She was just... Just so... Blank.

The Doctor was breathing steadly in complete silence, listening to the calming singing of her precious blue box and feeling as blank as a piece of paper only waiting to be filled with words.

What had happened? Well... Same old song! There was just no one left around.

No Yasmin, no Graham, no Ryan... No one. They had left.

Only everlasting silence was constant.

SILENCE.

She was so alone...

What was the point of her existence?

That silence when they are gone?

Is that it?

If so then...

SHE COULD NOT STAND IT!

The Doctor had stood up immediately and realised the handbrake at once.

Not looking at the screen, she whispered, bending over the console:

“Take me somewhere, please, somewhere else...”

The TARDIS had buzzed in response, nodding telepathically and set off.

 

***

 

The Doctor had opened the door harshly and took a step outside with no second thought.

The scent was oddly familiar, the cobbled, narrow street too...

_Oh, no, no, no, no, no..._

She had turned back in order to get inside and vanish as soon as it was possible, but the TARDIS decided not to let her in.

“Let me in, let me in!” yelled the Doctor, knocking maddly with no visible result. “Oh, come on! You know I can't interfere here anymore. I did it once!”

The Doctor sighed, seeing the old, good terrace of the café in the distance.

_Oh, Vincent..._

She had tried to open the door one last time... in vain and with a growl of irritation she headed towards the café, thinking how not to meet van Gogh again.

As the Doctor was walking slowly, she saw an old newspaper, all wet and dirty, lying on the ground. She picked it up to check the date. Maybe she was lucky and he's long gone?

She blinked in shock.

_No, no, no, no! NO!_

The Doctor had rushed back to the TARDIS and started knocking, punching and kicking the front door with a real desperation.

“How could you?! How?!” she yelled angrily.

Not a sound.

“27 July 1890!”

The TARDIS was most obviously not concerned with the shouting of her owner.

The Doctor leaned back against the door, breathing heavily with her eyes closed shut.

The day Vincent van Gogh had shot himself.

 


	2. The Little Confrontations

The Doctor had left her merciless ship, going nowhere, grinding her teeth, frowned.

She loved Vincent van Gogh! He was much too beautiful to live, not fitting, too fragile and totally impossible! She had met him once and, judgeing from his latter prophetic painting of the TARDIS falling apart, she had left a permanent mark on his soul.

It was risky. Van Gogh's death was a fixed point in time. He was a fixed point in time himself! Meddling with such point could have been disastrous even once... and twice? What the TARDIS was thinking about?

Immersed in thought, the Doctor hadn't noticed that she was pacing straight towards the fields surrounding the town until someone nudged her passing.

“Oi! Watch out!” she exclaimed, going back to reality.

Dark-haired young man had stopped at place, turned around, gave her a long, disgustingly judgeing look and then smiled politely.

“Excuse me, my lady,” he said slowly and made a short bow. “Extraordinarily beautiful, lady, I should say, perhaps. Pardon! I beg you pardon! I've just lost myself somewhere between your beauty and my own fantasies.”

There was something about his face and the way he spoke to her that made the Doctor sick to her stomach. She barely restrained herself from punching that self-confident idiot right in his insincere gob of a player.

“My name is René. René Secretan. May I ask what's yours, my lady?”

 “Oh, of course, you can, René, my name is: Bugger Off,” she replied sweetly.

 “Daring and nasty!” he gasped, giggling foolishly. “I like it! As I do like your unusual outfit. I hope to meet you again, my lady. It's a small town! I'll be looking for you! See you later! In the evening, maybe?”

Speaking so, he walked away, winking and waving towards her merily.

 _Oh, just great_ , thought the Doctor, rolling her eyes, _that was just what I needed! Some moron I'll have to keep avoididing all the time. Splendid! As if one moron I have to avoid was not enough._

She sighed annoyed, took a quick look around and, to her utter surprise, she had found herself standing in the middle of a wheat field, out of the town.

_No, no, no, no!_

THAT was definitely not the right place to escape an accidental meeting with Vincent van Gogh!

The Doctor turned back hurriedly, constantly keeping an eye out, ready to hide immediately in case of any hint of the ginger-haired man.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered to herself, “if only I could recall it fully, the exact time, place... Bugger! You're such an idiot, Doctor! Right... He was surely painting somewhere in the morning so... Just avoid the morning in the first place!”

She looked up, spotting the clock in the town centre.

Nine o'clock in the morning.

“Oh, of course, I could suspect that! Time's perfect, really! Well, then the possibility that I'll ran across him ripping time and space apart because of it is...”

“SHOW US YOUR EAR, YOU FREAK! COME ON!” the voice was childish and cruel.

“SHOW US! OR CUT ANOTHER ONE OFF!” yelled someone else, sounding similar to the previous one.

“YEAH! DO IT”

“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

The Doctor saw the group of children, ragged and noisy, ringing someone around.

She closed her eyes, trying to grasp the horrible coincidence, the idiotic paradox...

The ginger-haired man was trying to back off clumsily, tightening grip on his absurdly looking straw-colored hat with one hand and his huge paint-stained sack, containing his tools with another.

There he was: Vincent van Gogh himself – mumbling something unintelligible, visibly scared of a group of kids, lost, dazed and confused.

Oh, but she could not help him! Could not. Just not! The fixed point...

One child had picked a stone from the ground and threw it at the vunerable artist who was unable to shelter his arm from it. The hit had to be pretty painful...

The fixed point in something... Fixed... FIXED!

_DAMMIT!_

The Doctor came closer, took a hold of the screwdriver hidden in the pocket of her coat and spoke:

“Hey! Lads!”

The little demons turned around to face her.

“What?” asked the tallest boy.

“Why don't you leave him alone?”

“Not your business, ma'am!”

The other boys were nodding to approve the words of their leader.

“GO AWAY, LADY!”

“PISS OFF!”

“YEAH! PISS OFF, LADY!”

Boys started to outshout one another.

“And who are you, ma'am?! His _missus_?”

The group started to make silly kissing noises, booing and laughing viciously.

“Oh, for the Rassilon's sake!” the Doctor had gasped irritated, took her screwdriver out and aimed it into the sky, pressing the right button.

The horrible whizz started to resonate, forcing the little gang to stop laughing. Covering their ears, they immediately ran away. When she pressed the button again the street was pleasantly silent with no any sing of nasty kids. There were only those pale faces of curious people, staring at her through the windows of the nearby houses. She had shrugged in their direction, simply pretending nothing had happened and then she looked around.

The street was completely empty.

“Splendid,” she said out loud. “I risk the whole of creation for him and he just disappears! Rude!”

She decided not to search for him. Maybe that small act of help and only that one was some significant part of the right timeline? Her presence and help therefore could be simply required!

The Doctor had made a quick mental nod to herself and went straight to the TARDIS sure the door will be opened as the job was clearly done.

 


	3. That New Vincent

“Please, let me in...”

She was sitting by the door of her precious blue box since two hours already, constantly swearing, begging, bargaining, threatening, using all of her famous diplomacy and the screwdriver... In vain.

Finally, the Doctor had stood up exhausted and went to the famous caf _é. She_ had taken a seat and ordered a cup of tea.

Time Lady was right in the middle of searching for some money and cursing the horrible variety of useless coins from the different time periods in her pockets when...

“Excuse me, madame,” said some soothing voice, coming out from above.

The Doctor raised her head slowly, knowing exactly whose face she would see. And, obviously, she was not mistaken.

Vincent van Gogh was standing over her slightly embarassed.

“No, no and no,” she informed him, still trying to deny the reality. “You shouldn't be here. You better go away and paint something instead.”

He blinked bewildered and for a brief moment she could swear she saw a hint of recognition reflected in his blue eyes, but then, again, he dropped his gaze. Maybe he had tried to deny something as well?

“I do apologise for interrupting you, madame, I just wanted to say sorry that I... I escaped and thank you for your help,” he said.

The Doctor was surprised and... angry. Really, properly angry! That new Vincent standing in the front of her was much different from the one she had known before. Not a spark of passion left in his eyes, nothing left of that mad, but daring man she once knew. He was absent-minded, shy, bemused like a beaten dog... And there was something about it she couldn't stand! The very thought of him being some sensless fixed point she couldn't change. The Doctor hated the artist for being that bloody fixed point in time and was truly close to tell him how much that fact angered her. How _he_ angered her with his vunerable face and apologetic look!

“No problem, apologies accepted et cetera, et cetera,” she said instead. “And now, go paint as you had never met me.”

Vincent had blinked confused at first, but shortly afterwards he just shrugged.

“You are most unusual...” he replied and sighed helplessly, “Well... Nevermind. I guess you aren't real.”

The artist was up to leave, yet the Doctor stopped him.

“Oi! Wait!,” she exclaimed, standing up. “ _Aren't real_? What does that mean?”

“I'm a madman,” he informed stragihtforwardly, “it wouldn't be the first time.”

She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded.

“Are you going to paint now?” the Doctor asked again just to make it sure.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Wait! W-what? Why?”

“Light's not good anymore. Not the right hue. I was heading to the fields, to paint, when those kids... I was just up to pass them somehow, but you appeared out of nowhere, madame, and I sort of... lost the track of my reasoning. I went back to find you and say thank you instead of painting. Painting's everyday. Compassion's much more rare.”

If there is such thing as mental face-palm then that was exactly what happened inside her mind after such confession.

She had done it! She had screwed it!

_Fantastic!_

Vincent visibly decided that the conversation was over and went away. The Doctor held back a frustrated growl, left some mixed up golden coins on the table, hoping they will do and followed the artist as quickly as she could.

What else could she do?

 


	4. The Artist and His Inspiration

“Why are you following me?” asked Vincent quietly after ten minutes of pure ignoring her stubborn companion by his side.

“Vincent, I am real, I assure you,” she said, poking his arm. “See! I can touch you!”

“It does not prove anything,” he claimed calmly. “If you were real you wouldn't wear such riddiculous outfit, would you? You look like something I could paint!”

Vincent smiled looking at her too short blue high waist trousers and yellow suspenders visible under the long light blue coat.

“I don't know if it's a compliment or... are you insulting me? No matter... The point is... ”, she stopped in the front of him, making him stop as well, “I. AM. REAL.”

Vincent laughed quietly, hoarsely and... strangely... saddly.

“You keep calling me 'Vincent' like we were close friends, though we aren't. Unknown woman wouldn't do that, nor would she help me or accompany me with no reason like you do. Conclusion? You are imagined and I'm truly sorry you are... I'd love to have a friend like you. I'd love to have any friend at all.”

“But you do have friends, Vincent!” spoke the Doctor confidently. “What about the Ravoux family? I've heard they like you! You're renting a room in their Inn, am I right? And what about doctor Gachet? He loves art too and he truly adores your artworks!”

“Only my imagination could disagree with me like that!” said Vincent close to laugh again, but restrained himself quickly, going back to his absent-minded seriousness. “Well, of course, I like them... At times... But the Ravoux family tolerate me rather than like which is understoodable considering my reputation and odd behaviour no one can stand. And Gachet? Sure, he loves my paintings, but clearly not enough to buy any of them. I guess, he's in fact just jealous, because he can't paint himself. Probably, internaly he hates my paintings and despise me. Doesn't matter. I hadn't a proper friend since like... Since, I think, Gauguin left me for good. Suppose, he was right. Who would stand my company for that long?”

“Oh, stop moaning!” ordered the Doctor, gasping. “And Theo?”

At a mere mention of his younger brother's name, van Gogh, seemed to grow even more serious and distracted than he was before. He didn't say a thing on response.

“Well...” spoke the Doctor after a long time of silence that seemed to tear them apart. “Vincent, I think you're exaggerating, but let it be for now... Why don't we go to the wheat field? Nice wheather, don't you think? Nice, yellow wheat, nice blue sky, nice birds, crows maybe...”

Van Gogh gave her a suspicious look.

“I have that painting done since a while already, dear madame from my head.”

“I've got you! If I was from your head, as you said, I would know that it's finished!”

Vincent rolled his eyes.

“My head's capacious. It can contain over a hundred of half-brain idiots at once and all of them are me myself.”

“Oi! Be nice for this particular idiot or she will slap you!” yelled the Doctor offended. “Oh, yes, I've got it! Got it, mate! I am brilliant!”

“What? What is this?” asked the artist confused.

“That's me having an idea! I'm making such face when I am up to be spectacular,” stated Time Lady, grinning. “You're right. Yes, you are. Of course you are! I am totally, obscenely imagined. Totally, completely not real. And as a figment coming straight outta your head, I'm speaking to you as your Inspiration, Vincent van Gogh: GO AND PAINT!”

“I'm not sure,” mumbled the artist.

“But I am!” she informed, took his sack with one swift movenment and sped up leaving him behind. “Off we go! Painting time!”

Vincent shook his head bewildered, but followed obediently.

The Doctor smiled internaly hoping that this idea will clean the mess she had made playing carelessly with the fixed point. She would lead van Gogh where he should be, made sure he would stay there and then she would vanish leaving it all happening properly.

She had turned her head to check if Vincent is following her and then she saw somebody she hoped to avoid. René Secretan was strolling peacefully with two girls wrapped tightly with his long arms, showing them proudly some ludicrous gadget that the Doctor could not identify from the distance. Fortunately, they were so absorbed with themselves, laughing, flirting and... simply idioting around than they did not notice her and van Gogh straight away.

He could NOT see her! It would ruin her oh-so-clever plan and her oh-so-clever I-am-imagined disguise too!

She had hurried up towards Vincent, took him by the hand and dragged him to the closest alley.

“What are you doing?” gasped the artist with a genuine surprise.

“I-I'm... Leading you to... The source of peculiar... artistic energy!” she stammered in response. “Am I your Inspiration or not? Trust me and everything's gonna be fine!”

“Really?” muttered Vincent worried.

The Doctor felt suddenly guilty. She captured his palm more firmly, trying to get rid of that feeling as fast as it was possible.

“Really,” the Doctor assured him, squeezing his paint-stained fingers, begging this word to be truth which it was most obviously not.

 


	5. The Nightmare in the Wheatfield

They had gotten lost six times, two times nearly crashing with René thanks to the Doctor's so-called leading to a source of artistic energy. At some point Vincent visibly concerned started to wonder out loud how terribly broken his mind must be indeed to got him lost in a small town he knew so well. The Doctor had mumbled something unintelligible in response and kept going, never letting his hand go.

Finally, they had arrived to the broadly spreading wheat fields. When van Gogh had chosen the right spot to paint in there, she sat next to him and, after a while of prolonging silence, she lied down and started to watch clouds swirling, floating chased by the invisible wind so far, far above...

 

***

 

_The crows fly up hurriedly, emerging from among the spikes of wheat. Disturbing sound of their wings surrounds her, embraces her, scares her. The wings are growing fastly bigger, and bigger, and bigger still... The wind's blowing angrily like its trying to tear the world apart. She tries to escape. She runs, and runs, and runs, but she's moving awfully slowly and those horrible black wings are coming closer, closer, closer... She could hear the sobbing somewhere beneath the wind's wicked song._

_Who is crying?_

“ _Vincent!” she shouts, running and desperately looking for any trace of his bright orange hair._

_Sharp claws of the wind are painting the dark blue sky with fast strokes._

_Crows keeps coming, coming, coming..._

“ _VINCENT!”_

_Black wings are covering the view..._

_Distant sobbing is getting louder..._

_She barely can see anything._

_VINCENT! VINCENT! VINCENT!_

_The crows are laughing._

_Something is there..._

_On the gravel road..._

“ _VINCENT?”_

_Scarlet painted ground ..._

“ _VINCEEEEENT!”_

 

“Vincent!” gasped the Doctor deliriously, sitting up and trembling with unidentified fear growing inside her chest like a disease.

She must have taken a short nap. Well, she had never taken a nap. Gallifreyans just hadn't been doing that.

“That's weird,” she muttered to herself, looking around bemused.

There was no trace of the artist.

“Vincent!” she called out tiny bit worried.

No response.

She stood up and saw that his easel, chair, hat and painting stuff were still there. But where was he?

The Doctor came closer to see the painting which was already finished.

She sighed in awe at first.

Fast and firm strokes of brush. Yellow and blue. All moving, swirling and so very alive.

And so very...

_Oh..._

Blond-haired woman was standing on the gravel road surrounded by almost substantial wind. Her face was seemingly calm, but after a while it occured to the Doctor that it was just an illusion. The woman was frozen with fear. And right behind her, in the background...

_Oh, no... No!_

There were crows, not visible at first sight, flying to her.

And the ground underneath... Was that the Doctor's imagination or it really was slightly reddish?

“Vincent!” she yelled frightened. “VINCENT!”

The ginger-haired head popped out of the wheat in the distance, giving her a heart attack.

“What the hell are you doing?” spoke the Doctor annoyed, while Vincent came closer.

“Eating an apple,” he stated, shrugging and chewing the fruit. He had reached to his pocked and took another apple out, “Do you fancy one?” he asked politely.

“Apples are rubbish,” stated the Doctor firmly. “Where were you?”

“I was a little bit hungry so I went to the nearby apple tree,” he replied and smiled subtly. “You were sleeping so I decided not to wake you up. Symbolic, isn't it? I've just finished my painting and so my Inspiration took a nap! What do you think of it, by the way?”

“It's really... inspiring,” said the Doctor, not looking at the painting.

“Oh,” mumbled van Gogh, “I thought so... You're partly me so you cannot be satisfied if I am not.”

“But it's magnificent, Vincent!” exclaimed the Doctor expressively. “You should be satisfied! It is similar to the one with the wheatfield and crows, yet utterly different which is quite an achievement! But... The biggest problem is... you had never painted it. It shouldn't have been created at all... and I'm afraid it's my fault!”

“What do you mean saying I had never painted it? I don't understand.”

“Did I really say it out loud, didn't I? Crap. Let's pretend it didn't happen! But why is that so... disturbing? Why did you paint something like that?”

“It's funny, the way you're speaking,” said Vincent bemused. “Well... You should know why better than me. You are my Inspiration, right?”

“I was sleeping! Let's say you caught me off guard this time. It had to be some other internal idiot of yours to be responsible for this one.”

“If you say so,” agreed Vincent helplessly. “Then... That was just what I felt. Simple as that. I'm very disturbed myself. I had a row with doctor Gachet and... And Theo's ill again and he's closer to bankrupcy with every sum of money spent on me and... I'm keep having this horrible thought...”

The artist kept quiet for a while struggling with something internaly.

Finally, he raised his head and looked straight into her eyes:

“I can hear the crows laughing, Doctor.”

 


	6. Surprises

She blinked in shock.

“How did you call me?” she asked rapidly.

Vincent was just opening his mouth to response when a sudden burst of laugh interrupted him.

There he was again: René Secretan – flamboyant, nonchalant and radiating with stupidity.

She barely knew him and hated already wholeheartedly.

He was pacing in their direction, embracing the same two girls as before, but there was one more silly clown of a friend following him and the another one with a girl by his side. Bunch of six were making noise as there was twenty of them. How came nor the Doctor, nor Vincent heard the bunch coming? Judgeing from the artist's face he was far from being pleased with such company.

René noticed them finally.

The Doctor sighed.

“Oh, mon Dieu, what do we have here?” he exclaimed, smirking widely. “My favourite artist! Vincent van Earless!”

The young man had left two girls behind and patted van Gogh famiriarly on his shoulder.

“Oh, don't be so grumpy, Vince! You know I'm just kidding, don't you? Though you do have to admit that the Earless sounds proudly!”

As he was speaking the girls were giggling and his two friends were smiling meaningly. Vincent yet was just standing there unaffected, accepting such taunting calmly.

“But really! Just like some king or a nobleman, don't you agree, Vince?”

“That's enough,” stated the Doctor.

Ren _é_ seemed to notice her no sooner than she had spoke.

“Oh, pardon, pardon, again, my lady,” he laughed out. “Is that destiny? I'm loosing all of my manners while meeting you! Let me introduce you, ladies and gentleman, a friend of mine: Lady Bugger Off!”

Another laughing burst emerged from the obedient clowns standing behind Ren _é_.

“I swear to God, that's exactly how she introdused herself to me this morning when I was going to check if there are any spare boats available for us! Really... BUGGER OFF! Hahaha!”

Increasing noise was unbearable. The Doctor was up to tell them off, but...

“Just be quiet, René!” ordered Vincent to his own surprise. “I know God is forgiving and patient, but I am not in possession of such virtue and my patience is now over as you insulted my friend. Go away, please.”

René's friends started to boo loudly what remainded her of those horrible kids in town.

“Oh, Vincent, Vincent!” he exclaimed happily. “Don't be so rude! I was just joking, chap! Let me reward you and your friend, please! Just come with us, we're going to the lake, we're having fine wine and other gadgets with us! It'll be fun!”

“No, thank you, René,” replied Vincent shortly.

“As you wish, chap! Let's meet later! We'll drink, spend time with pretty ladies and simply be gods as we are!”

The bunch left them, heading towards the lake.

The Doctor turned to Vincent slowly.

“Honestly, tell me, how long did you know?”

 

***

 

The artist raised his head and smiled. For the first time his smile was a truly happy one.

“Since the very beginning,” he informed.

“Oh, you rude boy!” she replied, acting cross.

They kept looking at each other smiling for a while and then they laughed out and hugged each other tightly.

“It's so great to see you again, Doctor! I've missed you!” spoke van Gogh, letting her go.

“Why were you pretending you don't know me?”

“I didn't... I told you the truth. I don't think you are real. You can't be! I'm unable to stand such thought again!”

“But I am! Don't you remember the Krafayis? Amy? Musee D'Orsay? Hystacks painting in the museum? That was all real!”

Vincent downcast his eyes somewhat ashamed.

“When you had vanished I just came to thinking that I had imagined all of that. I had a breakdown soon after. I couldn't cope with reality in which you and Amy had never existed. I couldn't...”

Sensing that Vincent is going to break, she came closer and put her palm on his arm to show him her support.

“Hush, Vincent...” she whispered calmly. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I left you, but you had to stay here, to paint! You're such a big part of history of art, you're far too significant for the human race to just disappear...”

“I wish...” mumbled Vincent still looking down with his voice crackling slightly, “I wish that was true and you, and haystacks, Amy... I'd love it to be...”

“But, look, René saw me,” spoke the Doctor, “and his bunch too so I'm real, am I not?”

The artist raised his head. His eyes were wet and red.

“I could have imagined that too, Doctor, sometimes I can't tell what is and is not, you see... I'm a nutcase!”

“No, no, you are not... Well, yes, actually, yes, you are, but... The point is...” she looked into his china blue eyes, smiling warmly, “I am here. And as some wise wizard once said: of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Vincent smiled in response, visibly more convinced.

“I like that,” he admitted.

“Me too, Vincent,” agreed the Doctor. “So what would you say for some tea? We could sit, talk and be nice, huh?”

“I'm afraid I can't afford...”

“Shut up! It's on me! Don't argue!”

“Fine, fine, if you say so. We could go to the café with that yellow terrace, what would you say?”

“No, absolutely, not,” the Doctor said firmly. She wanted to avoid social situations if it was possible. She could not be seen too often because it would affect the fixed point... Even more than it already did... She growled internaly. “Let's go to my blue box, shall we?”

“Oh, the big and small one?” asked Vincent suddenly excited like a child.

“That one!” agreed the Doctor cheerfully. “Would you like to see it again?”

“Oh, of course, of course! I'd love to!”

“Let's go then!”

She had taken a step towards the town and then stopped and turned to Vincent.

“By the way, how did you know I am, well, me? I've changed a bit, didn't I?”

“Oh, yes, you don't have your bowtie anymore!”

She blinked surprised.

“Is that all?”

“Oh, you mean, you're a woman? Yes, I've noticed, but, honestly, I did not pay much attention to that fact since I saw the universe in your eyes and thought: it's the Doctor! That absorbed me greatly!”

She could not help, but laugh out loud.

“It's not me who's imagined. It is you, Vincent. Simply imagined.”

 


	7. Teatime

When the Doctor came in the front of the TARDIS and put her palm on the handle she was certain she would let them go inside. Time Lady was not mistaken. That old blue jerk of a girl had achieved her goal. Nearly. She most obviously wanted Vincent to be rescued against the all orders.

“What are you up to, old girl?” whispered the Doctor, going in with Vincent quietly following her.

“Tremendous!” cried the artist in awe, looking around with his eyes wide open.

Violet and iridescent blue, green and light pink, oh, and yellow, warm, warm yellow! High above the console there was a real astonishing universe spread across the whole ceiling, sparkling with stars of billions of distant gallaxies. The core of the console, a tall glass pillar, was melted into it, lost in the dark and colours, oh, so, high, high above. Everything was smooth, glassy, colourful and sparkling, making Vincent hold his breath.

“So you like it then?” asked the Doctor, giving him a toothy grin.

“You've redecorated!” he yelled eventually unable to take his eyes off every detail of the surrounding. “I LOVE IT!”

“Finally, somebody appreciates my redecorating! I myself am never happy with it... I mean, my future selves are not happy with past ones's interior decorating choices... Oh... I guess, it's confusing thing to say! And you are confused already... Ehm... Sorry! I had just been reading _Harry Potter_ books again shortly after regenerating... Ehm, you don't know what it means, do you? I mean, the body changing thing, getting all girly and witty! Well, anyway, the enchanted ceiling idea was just so brilliant that... I even had some candles at first floating around, but that was really nasty thing... Wax all over the place, you see... Why am I saying that?”

Before she could add anything else the man just jumped towards her and hugged her so tightly that she was sure that two or three of her ribs were fatally broken in the act.

When she had finally managed to calm Vincent down a bit, she left him to get some kettle and teabags.

“THIS!”

She almost jumped hearing him shouting.

“What?!”

Vincent was standing by the strange chair, the old fashioned one the Doctor could not get rid of.

“This is my chair!” he gasped, pointing at the piece of furniture with shock.

“Oh, this one,” said the Doctor shrugging, “no, it isn't. Unless you want it to be yours.”

“But it is, Doctor!” stated the artist firmly. “The same I had in the Yellow House! I broke it... I'm still not particulary proud of that... B-but it is! I had even painted it once!”

“It is not, Vincent,” disagreed the Doctor, “it's highly unlikely.”

“That scratch! Here! See? And shorter leg! Here! See it, Doctor?”

“Don't get overexcited, Vincent. Maybe you fancy some camomile?”

“I'd prefer coffee, please. I love coffee. Sometimes I can drink over twenty cups a day!” informed van Gogh, sitting on his chair and smiling like he had just found a long lost friend.

“Definitely camomile then,” decided the Doctor.

When she had passed him a cup and sat on the edge of console next to Vincent's chair she noticed something odd.

“Am I mistaken or you're sitting closer to the console than before?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yes, I suppose so, I shifted the chair so that I could...”

“You did what?”

“Shifted the chair. Is that wrong?”

The Doctor made a strange sound between laugh and snore.

“I have been trying to move that bloody thing since like ages with no result! It was stuck to the floor!”

“No, it wasn't, I just... moved it,” he said and shifted even closer. “See?”

She blinked.

 _Oh, clever girl_ , thought the Doctor, s _he did not put that chair for my comfort or to show compassion... Well, not for me anyway, but for him! It was indeed his chair! Still waiting for that absent man on his way... here. So maybe, just maybe, it was meant to happen... Yet... how is this all gonna end?_

“You must be King Arthur and this chair is your Excalibur!” she said out loud.

Vincent smiled shyly.

“Tell, me, Doctor,” started the artist carefully, “where is Amy? I missed her too.”

The Doctor sighed. She knew that question was to come.

“She's fine, I guess. Got married, had long, good life...”

Vincent seemed to be slightly disappointed for a while...

“Your box travel in time, isn't it?” he asked suddenly hopeful. “Can we visit her?”

“I'm afraid it's impossible,” replied the Doctor.

“But why? Maybe she would still... Doctor?”

“I'm sorry, Vincent, but I cannot see her. Not anymore,” she sight saddly. “You see, it's not easy. There are so-called fixed points in time and pages already written we cannot change for it would destroy all the creation, the time itself would collapse. And Amy's timeline is the written one. I cannot break into it again. It's closed for me.”

“Oh...” muttered van Gogh, downcasting his eyes. “I left her a message. She liked those sunflowers, remember? I had painted them for her and left a small dedication: _For Amy_... I had never liked those horrible flowers, but after I had met her I grew to adore them.”

“She received your message,” said the Doctor, smiling warmly.

Vincent smiled back.

“Did she? Did she... like it?”

“She did love it, actually.”

The artist brightened up immediately and took a sip of his brew.

“Doctor?” he asked wincing slightly after a moment. “What's that? It's not coffee.”

“Oh! No, no, it's not! Sorry, mate,” she said apologetically. “And it's not exactly camomile. I couldn't find it so I've made you a nice cup of camomile-like herb from Alfa Centauri... It's relaxing thing, though it's also disgustingly bitter so I added some blue honney made by earthworms from Terra Omega.”

“Space brew?” mumbled the artist with hesitation. “With blue honey? Made by earthworms?”

“Ehm... Yes... How do you... like it?”

“Weird... But... Not bad at all,” spoke Vincent, smiling and nodding tentatively.

“Great!” exclaimed the Doctor with some relief.

The artist went back to carful sipping.

Maybe she could just say goodbye and let him go as soon as he finish his brew? The TARDIS let her in so she could just fly away... Yet such thinking she found bothering for some reason. It sounded too much like an easy way to win with no actual solution of a mystery. A mystery which was: why the TARDIS forced her to meet him? What was the point? To say goodbye, to see him dying, to rescue him? But that would ruin everything! He had to die! Or maybe she was there to cheat, to falsify his death? Oh, screw it all, she could just steal him from there straight away, offering him travelling and don't care if it would change anything... NO!

_THE FIXED POINT!_

She shook her head, to clear it up, but it did not exactly work because although all of that fixed-point thinking indeed had faded away slightly, there came another thought disturbing, bothering and nasty.

“Vincent?” she asked carefully.

“Yes?”

“I've got to ask you...”

“Mhm?”

“René Secretan.”

Vincent raised his head frowned.

“I suspected you may not like to talk about it... But... How can you let him treat you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, don't you tell me you like it! He's mocking, humilitating you all the time. He and his bunch of idiots. And those kids in town are doing it as well! You let them treting you so! That's not right!You have to fight them, show them that you deserve some respect!”

Vincent was visibly annoyed with such enquiry.

“Oh, but you don't understand, do you?” he growled out. “You keep escaping life all the time, you're living above this mortal world and its misery. You only appear at times, to help, which is noble, but then... Poof! You vanish. That's all. And the others? Me? I'm alone and René's my only companion. Of course, he's awful from time to time, but he's also the one to drink with me at nights and spend time with me! He's teasing me, of course, but his company also makes my solitude tolerable. That's all. And kids? Kids are just kids... What can I do? Nothing.”

“And how well do you know me to suspect all I do is escaping? It is not. And even if sometimes it is then it comes at the price you could not even comprehend,” shouted the Doctor, standing up. “Collect yourself, man! Stop whining! Face him up!”

Vincent stood up also trembling with anger.

“Don't you dare to tell me what to do! I did today, didn't I? I told him to go away!”

“That's not good enough!”

“It's good enough for me!” shouted Vincent and dropped the cup accidentally. It smashed, falling apart into hundreds of pieces.

The silence fell.

The artist was staring at the broken pieces with uncommon terror in his eyes.

The Doctor was frozen not knowing what to do and regreting words she had spoken.

Vincent raised his head slowly.

“I'm... I'm... Sorry... S-sorry... I didn't mean to... I...” he had stammered and knelt down, trying to collect pieces carefully, quivering slightly.

“No, no, no, no, Vincent,” she whispered, knelt down as well, took his by his arm and forced him to look at her. “Don't.”

“B-b-but...” he mumbled, looking at the mess clearly frightened.

“It's nothing. It's just a cup. I've got plenty of them here. Stand up, please.”

He did.

“Listen...” she spoke, “I'm sorry. I know... I... shouldn't have said it all. I just can't stand the way they treat you and your quiet agreement, your appologetic looks... It's not fair! You deserve so much better! Oh, Vincent! Will you forgive me?”

The artist was still deeply shocked and a step from some fit, but he tried to control his crackling voice when he spoke.

“I've got nothing to forgive you, Doctor. You're probably right. I lack dignity, I'm a coward, a madman, an idiot and who knows what else? My family knew it, my friends did and so Gauguin when he left me. That's why I'm alone. That's why I accept bullying. I don't think I deserve better. Yet I promise to try my best for you because you believe in me and that faith of yours I fear to fail.”

She smiled, saying nothing. He smiled back. Words were not needed. They both started to clean the mass up wordlessly.

 

***

 

Vincent van Gogh straightened up when they had completed their task.

“I guess, it is high time for improvement, ” he decided loudly.

“Improvement?”

“I mean, my own, personal improvement. You're very persuasive, Doctor! Annoying and persuasive! That's a compliment. Now I see it is time for me to change. Maybe even to find a job? I feel so sick while thinking of money Theo had spent on me and is still going to spend despite his own financial ruin which waits just around the corner! No, enough of such exploitation! End of eternal melancholy! I had been promising to improve so many times and I failed. No more. ”

“Splendid decision and a great motto for the time of change, ” admitted the Doctor.

“Speaking of improvement, my brother and motto for the time of change... Once he wrote some wise words about improvement. In one of his letters... Wait!”

The artist ran to his coat and started to look for something in the pockets. It was taking him much too long and judgeing from his nervousness he could not find it.

Eventually, he turned to the Doctor with worrisome face.

“It's gone!”

“What is?”

“I have a thin packet of letters, my favourite letters from Theo and I'm taking it with me everywhere I go. Not many of them. Just a few I love the most. One of improvement and I... I must have left the packet in the wheatfield!”

“But you had it in the pocket of your coat! How could you left it there?”

“When you were sleeping I was having those nasty thoughts... Thoughts I cannot explain! And I started to flick those letters through just to calm myself down a bit. Then, suddenly, there had come a real flow of inspiration and I put them down in the distance, far from my chair in order to keep them clean... I must have left them laying there! Stupid, silly me! I must go back!”

“NO!” she shouted surprisengly loudly despite herself.

Vincent stood frozen with his palm on the handle.

“I mean,” she started speaking pretty bewildered, “I can go myself. You better stay here... Just in case...”

“In case? In what case?”

 _In case there is Death waiting on the fields just for you to appear_ , she thought.

“In case... In whatever case! Why the two of us have to go if one's enough?”

“You're right, ” agreed Vincent, nodding.

The Doctor sight with relief.

“I can go myself,” he finished the sentence and pressed the handle.

She should have let him go. The fixed point was up to fulfill itself perfectly according to the plan!

_BLOODY HELL!_

“That was not what I meant, mate! WAIT! I'M GOING WITH YOU!”

Speaking so, she followed him.

 


	8. The Crows are Laughing

The night was falling, the silence was anxious. The Doctor pursued her lips.

Not good! Really bad... BAD! Why couldn't she simply let it be? Why did she not let him go?

According to to her freshly recalled knowledge, Vincent van Gogh had left the Ravoux Inn on 27 of July 1890 in the morning in order to go paint in the wheatfield. He went back late in the evening without his painting staff. He was wounded. The artist claimed he had shot himself in the chest. The bullet had turned out to be impossible to remove without surgeon present. Local doctors were helpsess. The following day though, when his brother had visited him in the morning, van Gogh seemed to feel better. But it had turned out to be just temoprary improvement. Nearly two days after the fatal day, on 29 of July 1890, Vincent van Gogh had died because of untreated infection resulting from the wound. His painting staff had never been found.

The story was told to be unclear. It was not exactly his chest the artist had taken his aim at, but tiny bit below it. Suicides rarely ever choose stomach as their target. Head, heart, but nearly stomach? That is why there were those rumours that someone had killed him and van Gogh was protecting that person not saying the name.

The Doctor tried to put that blurry mess together and find the possible way to cheat the fixed point. With no result. She was just uncertain of what was going to happen! The Doctor hated not knowing!

They got to the wheatfield very fast or so it seemed as both of them were buried deeply in their thoughts, not speaking, but wondering through the maze of their vast minds.

Everything was so peaceful. No people around. No one. Dark blue sky and heavy clouds above were covering the sun comletely. They found the spot they had been to before quickly thanks to paint spotted grass all around. They knelt down to search for the lost item.

Within a minute or so Vincent stood up all happy and satisfied.

“Here it is!” he exclaimed, holding a thin packet of letters covered with the leather binding and smudged with paint as everything around the artist himself always was.

“Oh, fantastic!” smiled the Doctor felling an odd relief.

Everything was... normal. No peculiar mood. Nothing. Just two friends searching for a packet of letters that one of them had lost leaving the place.

_Friends..._

_A Friend._

That was it! Such a plain explanation why she hadn't just let it be, just let things happen. She had been living for centuries and sometimes she was able to forget the simplest of matters. Vincent was her friend. Ordinary thing. Not companion, but a friend lost in time. A friend she could not have. And that was annoying! He was perfect human being and she could not fully help him or take him away to show the wonders of the universe!

A friend.

The singing off-key noise had waken her up from the ocean of thoughts.

No way! And yet! Going back from the lake on his own, heading straight towards them! Lonely, drunken René himself with a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand.

“O-ho-ho! Who is this? Gotcha! Vincey and Buggery! All yellow and blue,” he slurred, doing his best to keep the balance. “Is that fate? Fa-te?”

After speaking those words he started to laugh.

“You're drank, old chap, go home,” advised Vincent calmly.

“Who drank? Me drank? No drank!” he bubbled. “We met kids by the lake! Small humans! Got that? Small! Hahaha-a! They said you have a new missus! Vincey, congratulations on that, old chap!”

“You better go,” ordered the Doctor.

“Buggery Offy! Is that you? Missus Buggery van Earless?! Noooo! That's hilarious, I can't, I can't... Hahahahahah!!!”

René was nearly dancing, shuddering with another major laughing fit.

Before the Doctor could react anyhow, the artist came to the drunken man, gripped tightly at his shirt and pushed him away firmly. Ren _é_ fell hard against the ground all confused and maybe even a little bit scared.

“Shut up, you lazy moron, and don't you ever dare to insult me or my friend,” said Vincent with his voice strong and mighty.

The Doctor blinked surprised.

“I normally do not approve of violence, but... That's what I call improvement!” she cried out, grinning.

“That reminds me of that letter I wanted to recall... Wait, it is somewhere there... Theo... You have to meet him! He can be so smart! You would love him as I do, I'm certain of it!”

“Hands up, you nutcase!” the voice came from behind.

The Doctor rapidly looked down. There he was. René laying on the ground... René... René... Holding a _gun_! _A bloody gun!_

Vincent had seen it too and backed off immediately. He stood next to the Doctor.

“Come on, sweethearts, hands up,” mumbled the young man. “Listen to the sheriff!”

“It's not the Wild West, put it down now, ” said the Doctor peacably, but decisively.

“Nooo-nooo way, Buggery,” he said standing up with an effort. “He pushed me! P-ushed! And... I'll push him outta way! See, Vince, I told ya I had some nice gadgets today! My new, shining _gun_!”

“So use it, if you think you're so brave!” ordered Vincent.

“NO!” yelled the Doctor standing inbetween them. “Stop it, both of you! It's stupid! Don't you see?”

“Outta way, Buggery!”

“Come on then, old chap!

“Vincent, stop it!”

“You told me to face him up, to fight for my dignity and that's what I am going to do! See? NO MORE!”

“That was partly methaphorical! I did not mean: let him shoot you!”

“Mmmm shoootin'!” informed René.

“WAIT!!!” shouted the Doctor loudly what kept them at place for a moment.

Vincent was looking at René, René was looking at him, Doctor was standing between them, judgeing their faces, looking at one and then at another.

“Listen,” she said quietly, “both of you. Please, listen! What's the point of it? René, why are you mocking him? He's different, yeah, he is. You can joke about it, sure, you can. But nicely. Laugh with him not at him! That's why he pushed you. You exaggerated, understand? Let's call it a draw. You teased him, he pushed you. Settle! And you, Vincent, do you really think that letting him shoot yourself will help you gain some dignity? No! Gaining dignity once lost is a long-term process. It's impossible to be respected thanks to one act. Especially if that act is going to be the last act of your life. Besides, if you push him to shoot you then you will ruin his life. He's drunk. He may do it and all of his young life will be destroyed. He'll be suffering, knowing what he has done! It's not exactly a noble first act on the new way of self-improvement, is it? Finish it, Vincent, no more!”

Vincent had been tensed all the time she was speaking, yet eventually he relaxed. She might be wrong, but she saw a shadow of a smile on his face.

“You're right,” he agreed, “it is time to finish it. No more.”

He passed her, bent down and offered his hand to René.

The Doctor could not see the artist's face.

Ren _é_ hesitated, still pointing his gun at Vincent.

He could shoot him easly.

The Doctor clenched her fists.

Ren _é_ finally, slowly put the gun down and let Vincent help him to stand up.

She sighed with relief.

Then...

A large murder of crows flew away from among the wheat spikes.

Her eyes grew wider.

Sudden sharp noise.

_The crows were laughing._

The sound of a gunshot.

_VINCENT! VINCENT! VINCENT!_

Ren _é_ was trembling with shock.

But Vincent...

_On the gravel road..._

_Scarlet painted ground ..._

“Vincent,” she whispered, kneeling down by his side.

Blood was all around.

The artist though was smiling faintly, looking into her eyes.

“No,” she gasped, pressing her palm to the wound to stop it from bleeding.

“I-I didn't mean to... I didn't do it! I didn't!” stammered René, rapidly backing off. “It was an accident! An accident!”

“Go for help! NOW!” she ordered.

“N-no! N-no! I won't go! I didn't do it! It was not me! No-tt mee!” he yelled hysterically and simply escaped. He had run away to never return.

She looked at Vincent, lying on the ground. _Dying._

“I hope I didn't screw it,” he whispered with an effort.

“No, Vincent, no... It was René who shot you!”

“Nah! It wasn't him. Like I said: no more.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“I knew that the crows are coming, I knew they will scare him and that he will shoot by mistake... I finished it. No more... O-of... This. No more of poor Theo spending his money on me, no more of that lunatic who ruined so many lives. No more. Me.”

“Shut up, Vincent! That's all not right!”

“You hear them, don't you? The crows are laughing!”

Van Gogh was smiling deliriously, looking at birds flying far above.

“René... It's good... He will remember... He may improve... I might have rescued his soul... In a twisted way though... The Lord works in mysterious ways... I will not confess who was holding the gun... It was me who shot anyway...”

The Doctor did not know what to say, she uncovered some of his shirt to see the wound. Maybe, just maybe... She could... Uhm... Be a doctor and not the Doctor this time.

Not a chance.

The wound was simply hideous.

Vincent growled, gently pushed the Doctor away and stood up slowly.

“I-I think I have to g-go back... To-to the Inn... I doubt they'll help, but... Eh... I may see Theo once more before I-I...,” whispered the artist. “It's time to say goodbye, Doctor.”

“No,” she said with her voice breaking, “don't say that!”

“I suspected you came here against your will... Eh...the-hh blue box t-told me. She can speak, you know? I happen to understand her language. It's surprisengly similar to Dutch... Y-you told me about those fixed points... M-my paintings started to-to be precious after my death... My death must be one o-of them. And s-so you want-ed to avoid me, e-scap-e, because... of my death, the fix-ed point, yeah? Funny world. Sad-d world.”

She nodded shortly, feeling hot tears on her cheeks.

“Vincent...” she mumbled, but could not finish it.

He was visibly exhausted with his constant fight with the pain.

“Doctor...” he said, cracking a painful smile and slowly walked away, limping.

He did not finish the sentence either.

 


	9. The Doctor in the TARDIS

_The Doctor in the TARDIS._

“Same old song, huh?” she murmured, when stepping inside alone.

Time Lady was emotionally blank again.

“What was that for, old girl?” she asked her precious box, patting the console lovingly. “You hoped I could help? I couldn't. I...”

 _Voorp, Vooorp_ , came the response.

She sighed.

The Doctor was wandering around her ship, trying her best to ignore the canvas, brushes and other staff the artist had left there. She should have set off as fast as it was possible. Run away. Straight into the vortex. Just. Escape.

_Escape._

_You keep escaping life all the time, you're living above this mortal world and its misery. You only appear at times, to help, which is noble, but then... Poof! You vanish. That's all. And the others? Me?_

She closed her eyes shut, hearing the truculent words echoing inside her brain, throbbing like a real hammer.

The Doctor washed her hands in the bathroom, checked the engeenes and translation circuit, and handbreak, and WiFi... Apparently, there was so much to do! She could find billions of excuses not to set off.

Hours had passed and she was still there... Cleaning...

 _Cleaning is good_ , she thought polishing the console, _very good. Once you clean the things and the things are... clean. Clean is good. Makes the things better._

Finally, the interior was oddly tidy. So horribly tidy she felt uncomfrotable.

Nothing left to do.

Literally.

NOTHING.

Quite an achievement when it comes to the ship which is millenia old and has some issues to fix all the time.

The Doctor came close to the console with no rush and then...

“Crap!” she saw pieces of the cup on the very edge of it. The one Vincent had broken.

Time Lady took one blue piece in her palm, tracing the sophisticated pattern on it and thinking helplessly about the artist she waneted to forget... To forget she couldn't help. To...

“OH, HOLY COW OF GALLIFREY!” she yelled in shock out of sudden, jumping in the air and immediately dropping the piece to the floor.

The Doctor ran to one of the stores at the end of the main passage, grabbing a small metallic cube from the drawer in the console room just before.

“It has to be somewhere! I've seen it lately!” she was murmuring to herself desperatly, throwing unidentified items away from the boxes in the store. She smiled seeing the old dummy in the corner, made some important mental note and went back to searching.

“GOT IT!” she announced, handling two small devices each similar to an mp3 player and stormed out of the TARDIS like a rocket.

 


	10. The Unexpected Turn of Events

Vincent was falling asleep. The pain decreased thanks to the painkillers one of the doctor had given him. He felt better, but he was not delusional. He had seen the truth in their faces. Two doctors, old Ravoux, his wife and daughter and their nods, big eyes full of sorrow... The wound was fatal.

They had promised him to inform Theo immediately. The artist hated himself for the fact that despite the gunshot he was still alive and his brother will have to see him like that, slowly dying in agony. Oh, maybe he will die in his sleep and will not have to see Theo sobbing over his unworthy older brother? Maybe... He smiled faintly. But probably he'll see him once again. Good. Even if they had drifted apart. Even if he was doing nothing, but sending him those annoying doctors. Helpless doctors...

The dreamless sleep was surrounding him, draggim him into its lap...

“Hush, Vincent...” came the voice from his dreams.

Familiar, soft...

“Vincent...”

Someone's hand shook him carefully.

He blinked.

It was not a dream.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Vincent,” whispered the Doctor bending over him, “but I think you're not dying.”

Van Gogh frowned irritated, blinked fastly regaining consciousness and then whispered:

“How did you get here?

“Like an intruder!”

“What?”

“In-tru-da-window,” she giggled stupidly. “I'll never be too old for that foolish joke. NEVAH!”

“You're mad,” he said confused.

“Said one madman to another,” commented the Doctor.

“Stop it,” ordered Vincent, “what are you doing here?”

The Doctor became serious instantly.

“I've got some bad news, you suicidal nutcase, you are not dying.”

“But I am!”

“Hush! No one can hear us!”

“Fine,” whispered Vincent.

“You're feeling better, don't you?”

He nodded shortly.

“I guess not for long, judgeing from the doctors' faces.”

“I am the Doctor too. Look at my face and listen. You are not dying. Actually, you're getting better and better. Blue honey? Earthworms, remember?”

“The not-camomile hot drink you gave me?”

“That one. I mean not specifically the drink, but the blue honey itself. I didn't think of it when I was adding it to your brew. I bloody forgot about it! I can regenerate myself so it does not work on me... Well, it is not exactly the same kind of regeneration, but anyway... It does not work on me... Perhaps, that's why I have forgotten it may work on you! It is a comon medicine all around the universe. How could I forgot? I can be so stupid at times!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Vincent impatiently.

“I'm talking about earthworms. What special ability do they possess? Even here, on the Earth? Vincent... They can REGENERATE. Eartworms from Terra Omega can do it too and even more than that. They can produce honey which contains the substance which they use to rebuild their damaged cells.Yet it is triggering really slowly inside the alien flesh like yours, with different immune system and all...

“Alien flesh?”

“Big news: you are an alien for the aliens. But what is much more important in this situation...” she spoke and, encouraged by his short nod, she uncovered the blanket slowly and then she started to remove the dressing.

Under it there was no infected wound, but only slightly pink flesh so obviously recovering. The tip of the bullet was visible in the middle of the healing wound.

“You're regenerating, Vincent,” informed the Doctor quitetly. “The bullet will be forced out soon because the cells are growing back pretty maddly. It would not happen normally. The bullet would encyst or, what's most probable, cause an infection and death in result. But this is alien medicine. The new cells are uncommonly alive and strong. They will not tolerate a bullet among them.”

Vincent remainded wordless for a long while. Darkness which was covering his face made it nearly impossible to see on it even a faint trace of thoughts swirling inside his head.

“I refuse,” he whispered eventually.

The Doctor only shook her head in response.

“You don't understand... I simply cannot fail once again. I had failed so many times already. I tried to work in a shop, I tried to be a teacher, I tried to be a preacher, I tried to make the woman I loved to love me in return, finally, I tried to be an artist able to subsist on selling his paintings and... I failed. Tell me, how can I stand another failure? Can't even a suicide be nothing, but a failure in my life? Even its ending? Even that can't I make successfully?”

“First things first, it was not a suicide, but an accident...”

“It wasn't an accident. I had predicted it.”

“Nevermind. The second certain thing is you won't die.”

“And maybe... You could get a gun or...”

“No, I won't do it. It's not gonna be that easy to solve, I'm afraid.”

“But why?”

“Because I would never be directly and consciously responsible for your death and it wouldn't do anyway as the cells would keep growing back again so...”

“Don't you tell me I'm immortal?” he asked horrified.

“Nah, you're not. It's just temporal matter, but I don't know just how temporal. A day? A week?”

“I hate you, Doctor,” mumbled Vincent huffed and annoyed.

“Rude, but I used to rude,” replied the Doctor. “And last things last, you can't be alive and no one can know you possess abilities to heal a fatal wound so you can't be alive... Well, not for a long time.”

“To sum it up, you say I have to be both alive and not be alive and no one can know I'm alive?”

“More or less, and if you want to argue then I have to tell you you can't be alive in some sense. Spoilers! Vincent van Gogh had been shot 27 of July 1890 and died in the early hours of 29 of July 1890. You know about the fixed point thing and its importance, about me not wanting to actually be here because of it. You cannot live here. You have to die then.”

“That's why I'm asking you about. I'm asking you to finish my life somehow. It is not selfishness that drives me, you see, not only anyway, but... I-I don't want to be a problem for Theo anymore and for anybody else and that fixed point supports my will. It came to the point of an absolute necessity for many reasons to wipe me off the ground.”

The Doctor smiled mysteriously.

“I have an offer you can't refuse then,” she said and put her hand into the pocket.

 

***

 

The artist listened to the offer carefully and nodded shortly determined.

“You have my full agreement,” admitted Vincent quietly, “I have but one request though.”

The Doctor waved her hand impatiently to encourage him to continue.

“I want to see Theo one last time before I die.”

Time Lady knew it would be hard to fulfill such wish, but she agreed.

 


	11. The Sadness Will Last Forever

The morning finally came, but its warm light could not reach the pale face of Vincent van Gogh. The doctors had examined the wound and found that its state was far worse than before. The artist was delirious, visibly unable to recognise any faces or even to put words into sensible sentences. The fever, additionaly, was high.

Doctor Gachet shook his head, watching Vincent babbling something incoherently. The window was opened. Fresh air would do no harm, thought the doctor calmly, though it would not help much either. Poor, freak, poor... He shrugged and headed towards the window to close it, but restrained himself as suddenly there came a sound of somebody running up the stairs. The man who appeared a few seconds later was tall and skinny with a trim moustache. The doctor immediately identified his gaunt face as one after a long-term illness. The eyes of that newcome were light blue and slightly glassy. Gachet knew those eyes much too well.

“It's good to see you again, Mr. van Gogh,” said Gachet. “I wish we could have met under happier circumstances, though.”

“How is he?” asked Theo, trying not to look at his brother in fear of seeing the horrible truth.

Gachet shook his head to express hoplesness.

Theo nodded and approached his brother.

“Vincent...” he whispered.

His younger, irritating, mad, reckless brother cast his unfocused eyes on the face before him.

“Oh, old chap, what have you done to yourself this time,” gasped Theo, studying the feverish, miserable appearance of Vincent. He was so obviously distracted, delusional.

“Theo...” he sighed out, recognizing his brother. “Theo, my dear...”

“Everything's gonna be fine, I promise.”

Vincent smiled faintly.

“Brother dear, the sadness will last forever...”

After those weird words that make Theo shudder the artist started to mumble something to himself anxiously.

“Maybe we should let him rest now and go for a drink downstairs in a meantime?” asked Gachet politely.

Theo hesitated, staring at his stubmling brother, unable to go.

“He's getting nervous. Please, Mr. Van Gogh, your presence makes him far too emotional for his own good. He needs some peace.”

Theo nodded shortly and left the room.

 


	12. The Actual Death

As soon as both men had gone away the Doctor climbed in through the window.

“Bloody hell, I was so afraid youre little stunt is not gonna work on them! And that doctor man wanted to close the window... Oh! That would be problematic. My sonic doesn't do wood.”

“God, you're so talky at times,” moaned Vincent very sanely, rolling his eyes.

“How are you?” she asked suddenly serious.

“I'm fine, but you know that already.”

“I do not mean your health, but your farewell with Theo... Vincent?”

The artist closed his eyes shut, pursued his lips and shook his head.

“Can't I really see him again? Not ever?” he asked doing his best to keep his voice from breaking.

“Never, ever. You know the rules. I can only tolerate one exception on the board. ”

Vincent nodded firmly.

“I hate 'never, ever',” he claimed, though.

“Actual death would tear you both apart forever as well.”

“And isn't this an 'actual death'?”

“No, it isn't. You're garbling everything all the time. You really do, mate,” spoke the Doctor patting his arm. “Enough now. Come on. Time to let your old life die, as you would probably say.”

As Vincent had left the bed, the Doctor took a small metallic cube out of her pocket. She pressed a small button on it and put it on the bed. The item seemed to open and a flash of light emerged from it. The light started to transform gradually to Vincent's utter surprise. He was staring at the cube mesmerised. The Doctor smiled, watching his reaction. The light turned into huge, old fashioned dummy. She collected the cube when the light went down.

“Chill, mate,” she whispered, “it's nothing sophisticated. Just an old so-called space container. Time Lords' invention. You can hide big objects inside and hide them this way. They are lightweight all the same, even carrying pretty heavy items. I just thought... I would look really suspicious carrying a dummy while going through the town centre.”

Vincent giggled.

Then the Doctor took the mp3-like gadged out of her pocket and stuck it to the dummy's chest.

“Oh, that magical shimmering thing,” said Vincent, pointing it excited like a child.

“Shimmer,” corrected him the Doctor. “You've seen it already and even tried it out. It's like the wound trick we have made to deceive the doctors...”

“Yes, I know, it makes an illusion,” finished Vincent knowingly.

“Yup and, if it's well-programmed and properly upgraded and this one is, then you can make people believe in some things without questioning it,” explained the Doctor. “They'll all think it is you, they'll keep checking the pulse and stuff until the hour you should be dead then it will just send them a subliminal message. They'll believe you're dead. Simple as that. You'll have to use to such things I'm afraid.”

Vincent straightened up and smiled, looking at dummy slowly changing into himself.

“I always knew there's so much more in the universe than a human eye can see!”

The Doctor smiled back and they both climbed out of the window carefully.

When they had reached the ground the Doctor slammed her forehead with a palm.

“Silly me,” she said and passed Vincent the second shimmer.

“What's that for?” he asked bemused.

“It is for you. You can't be dying in one place and walking alive in another! Only for a moment. Press it. Now, see... You're looking like some short-haired, tall, big-eared man... wearing a black... leather... jacket... _Dammit_...”

“What?” asked Vincent, wearing a pretty familiar face.

“Nothing,” she said shrugging, “you just look... _fantastic_.”

Vincent had given her a huge banana smile and they strolled peacefully right back to the TARDIS.

 


	13. So Much More...

Standing by the console, the Doctor and Vincent were happy. It was the first time since ages for both of them to feel so ordinarily, simply and honestly cheerful.

Time Lady was looking at the ginger-haired man, wondering what she got herself into, offering him travelling with her! One madman in the box was nearly as big as the box itself and two? Isn't that too much for one, tiny box? Well, it might be. Although, it was good to mention that it really was the box so much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside and so was her heart.

The Doctor knew it better than ever, looking at the Vincent's chair, standing proudly by the very core of the TARDIS.

She sighed. It was a happy sigh.

That was just it.

Just _it_...

“Ready to go, Vincent?”

“I believe so, Doctor!” came the reply both nervous and filled with anticipation.

She gripped the leaver and...

“WAIT!”

“What now?” asked the Doctor, growing impatient.

“I forgot to tell you something. It is a matter of the great importance, I assume... I had a vision... Just... please, don't laugh. Sensitive souls tend to detect what's undetectable for the others...”

“I'm not laughing, Vincent. What have you seen?”

“Your blue box exploding in the heart of the sun on the day...”

“Pandorica was opened?”

“Do you know the meaning of my nightmare? I had painted it so if you care to see it before we go, maybe...”

The Doctor smiled warmly.

“It's the story which belongs to the past now. I know your painting and... I perhaps should say it: thank you, Vincent.”

“But what for? What happened?”

“It's a really long and weird story of the starless night, the end of the universe and the girl who waited, oh, and so much more than that... Once upon a space and time, I'll tell you that story...”

Vincent grinned.

“I think you won't have to for I already know it.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yes, isn't it just another version of the story of the starry, starry night, end of life and a man who lived, oh, and, indeed, much more than that... ”

The Doctor grinned back and realised the handbreak.

“And much more is yet to come!”

 


	14. Epilogue

Meanwhile, back in Auvers-sur-Oise, there was one bewildered waiter sitting by the counter in the café with the yellow terrace. The man could not quite comprehend the value or the meaning of the bizarre coins he had received a day before from the oddly futuristic lady.

Two of them were humming a real melody everytime he touched them, six were glowing in the dark and one... One was the most peculiar of them all.

On one side of it there was a familiar face with a beard and riddiculous hat. There was the writing on the coin's edge too as if the face itself was not impossible enough.

The waiter kept reading those words over and over again...

  _For the Greatest Artist of the Universe Who Had Travelled in Time and Painted its Essence Fairly. A.D. 10 000, Earth._

 


End file.
